


Winterlude

by Probably_Momo



Category: RWBY
Genre: Beehaw, Bumbleby - Freeform, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff and Smut, If You Squint - Freeform, NOT yorse, Romance, Spicy Christmas Bees!, it’s just so soft, self indulgent horse AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:20:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28300764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Probably_Momo/pseuds/Probably_Momo
Summary: Blake discovers the magic of creating new traditions.Yang learns how beautiful it can be to see the familiar through the eyes of someone you love.~This fic is a thoroughly self-indulgent plunge into a slightly Beehaw AU that I have been working on. It takes place after the main fic, after Blake has moved in with Yang on her little farm in the Willamette Valley in Oregon. Yang is a farrier (a person who trims hooves, and smiths and fits horseshoes), and she specializes in training for Natural Horsemanship. Blake is a professional equestrienne (dressage and eventing), who writes for equestrian magazines and blogs to make ends meet.~
Relationships: Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long
Comments: 4
Kudos: 53





	Winterlude

**Author's Note:**

> This is solid fluff that takes a delightful left turn down the path of smut about halfway through. There is a line break before the smut, so if you only want to read something sweet and soft you can just read to that point.
> 
> Since I’m taking it easy this week, there aren’t any end notes. But if you have any questions, please feel free to ask in the comments.
> 
> Blessed Yule, Merry Christmas, happy (slightly belated) Hanukkah, and happy Kwanza to all of you lovely human beings!

“Winterlude, Winterlude, my little daisy  
Winterlude by the telephone wire  
Winterlude, it's makin' me lazy  
Come on, sit by the logs in the fire  
The moonlight reflects from the window  
Where the snowflakes, they cover the sand  
Come out tonight, ev'rything will be tight  
Winterlude, this dude thinks you're grand”

-Winterlude, Bob Dylan

___________________________________________________________

It was almost snow weather; a little too warm but the breeze promised a night of frost and whispering trees and maybe, just maybe, fluffy feather-down flakes that could drift and vanish the hillsides beneath their amorphous weight. Blake stood on the porch for a long moment, savoring the break of a watery winter sunbeam through the rolling grey mass overhead. The low angled light cast an otherworldly pallor, a ghostly sort of gilding, over the rolling grassy hill and the dirt road that lead down to the barn.

A whinny split the air, soon coupled with unhinged, raucous braying and hooves banging on stall doors. She had been spotted by the occupants of the barn, and they wanted their breakfast NOW, to hell with the view. 

“Hold your horses, I’m coming.” Blake grinned, partly for the bad joke and partly for the groan it elicited whenever she rolled it out around Yang (which was often, because she loved the fond eye-rolling glare that puns brought out in her girlfriend). She headed down the track, towards the indignant band that were now splitting the quiet chill morning with their equine protests. Her tall, fine-boned Tennessee Walker, Umbra, leaned his narrow chest against the metal pipe railing. He stretched his long neck towards her like an petulant goose. He had managed to undo his blanket at some point in the night— the expensive mound of cloth now occupied a shunned corner of his paddock. 

To be fair, the likely culprit in Umbra’s undressing was the smallest and noisiest resident of the barn— and also Umbra’s stall-mate. Hearing Blake’s approach, Felicity the donkey trotted through the open door and greeted her with another of her piercing, paint-peeling ululations. The other horses responded like a Grecian chorus.

“Good god damn, it’s like we never feed you. I’m glad the nearest neighbor is five miles away, or we’d probably be cited for animal cruelty.” 

The inside of the barn was warm from the presence of large bodies, and smelled like hay and pine bedding and happy horse. The placid face of Yang’s old retired haflinger, Pippa, appeared over her stall door. The sweet girl whuffled a greeting, good-naturedly pressing her head forward as Blake reached her arms up and around Pippa’s tawny neck. The horse was a cuddler and Blake, so used to high-spirited and mischievous animals bred for showing, had fallen head over heels for her the moment she met her. 

Yang’s good-natured teasing echoed in her mind—  _ Sometimes I think you’re dating me for my horses. _

__ _ Oh, don’t sell yourself short,  _ Blake had retorted,  _ I’m also dating you for your fabulous house and sexual favors. _

With one last deep breath of Pippa’s alfalfa and dust scented mane, Blake turned and got to work forking flakes of hay into the occupied stalls. Seven horses and the donkey currently lived in the barn and the associated well-tended paddocks. Two of the horses were boarding for the winter while their owners, Blake’s friend Sun and his unbearable boyfriend Neptune, were on holiday in Rio de Janeiro. Two were Blake’s (along with the world’s most irritating and adorable donkey), and the other three were Yang’s. 

By the time she was done, her bangs were plastered to her brow by sweat and she had shucked off the heavy barn coat and rolled up the sleeves of her cable-knit sweater. She rested on the handle of the pitchfork, listening to the contented sounds of chewing and hooves shuffling through soft bedding. The herd was content. 

The usually aloof grey barn cat twined around her ankles, mewing piteously. Blake returned the fork to its place on the wall and went to the tack room to fill Arlene’s dish with kibbles. In the months since the cat had appeared in the barn, the presence of mice and rats had diminished to an unnoticeable level. Blake and Yang no longer had to worry about ruined grain and nibbled tack, and Arlene had a warm place to sleep and all the Friskies she could eat. She had ignored all of Blake’s attempts to entice her into the cabin, and would scratch anyone who tried to pet her, but she would happily sit on a saddle rack and purr while the women moved about the daily work in the barn. 

“She’s a barn cat,” Yang had said, after the last attempt Blake had made to tempt Arlene to the creature comforts of a soft bed and gold star giblets in gravy had resulted in a laceration requiring at least three bandages. “She likes what she likes. You can’t change her any more than you can make Felicity sing like an angel.”

Reminded of the spunky little donkey, Blake sighed. She let herself into the stall where Umbra and his best friend were peacefully munching. A handful of hay stood out from Felicity’s fluffy head like an absurd hairdo— Blake removed it, then ran a hand down the black fringe of mane to scratch the burro over her right shoulder blade, right on the spot that made her stretch and snort. 

“What am I going to do with you, huh? You’re almost more trouble than you’re worth. Can you please,  _ please _ leave the big guy’s blanket where it belongs tonight? He’s not all shaggy like you are and it's going to get cold.”

A snort from the large horse in question sounded almost like a disdainful denial of the hated blanket. Either that, or the dark bay had gotten an alfalfa leaf up his nose. When Yang talked to the horses there was an undercurrent to it, almost like they could really understand the meaning behind her words. When Blake did it she felt a bit silly, but there was a stubborn part of her that didn’t want to believe that someone else could have a stronger connection to her animals than she did. And Yang would probably agree with that part of her— had in fact encouraged Blake to go in and chat with them whenever the mood struck her. 

Something that had previously been marred by embarrassment and shame, to be done when no one was around for fear of ridicule, was now something that she both knew to be good and constantly had reaffirmed. The cruel voice still rang loud in her mind, “ _ They’re just animals Blake, they’re tools to be used and nothing more _ ”, but it was superseded by the warmth and growth and sheer joy that she experienced now when she worked with her horses. They were her partners, her friends, and nothing could compare to the blissful singing freedom she felt when she was with them.

The purple satin of the quilted blanket was now streaked with paddock grime and freckled with clinging hay and bedding. The rich hue and silky texture had tempted Blake into purchasing it even though  _ she damn well knew _ what was going to happen to it. She had almost fooled herself into hoping that Umbra would like it enough not to shed it the second he was out of her sight. 

“So much for your early Christmas present, huh?”

She threw it over his back and tightened the straps that held it in place, pointedly ignoring the irritated stamping of hooves. She gave the last buckle a tug, then reached up to scratch under the large gelding’s forelock. Even if he was annoyed with her, he loved that trick. Umbra blew and lowered his head to give her easier access, and Felicity pushed up against Blake’s other side to demand more scratches of her own. 

Haze, Blake’s dainty rabicano Arab mare, gazed judgmentally through the bars that separated the two stalls. The mare was as finicky about affection as the barn cat that shared her coloration. The closest Blake could get to petting her was running a curry-comb through her gleaming coat and an occasional affectionate nuzzle when she thought none of the other horses were looking. Her matching lavender blanket was still on her back, where Blake had put it the day before, unmussed and elegant. 

Blake gave each of the animals affection and attention in turn, double checking for any of the myriad of mysterious wounds horses had the dubious ability of inflicting upon themselves when unattended for any period of time. She finished up with Pippa again, indulging herself in a long snuggle against the placid dun’s warm, wide chest, before she pulled her coat back on. She said goodbye to them, which was largely unattended, and headed up the hill.

She hummed softly to herself as she trekked back from the barn, a tune which shaped itself gradually into something like a carol. The warm glow of the lights inside the cabin and the twinkle of the Christmas tree in the window was the most welcoming thing she had ever seen. Their cabin— their home. The thought was enough to make her skip the last few yards to the porch, in spite of her heavy mud boots and the fact that she probably hadn’t skipped in ten years. 

The persimmon tree by the porch was now bare of its leaves, the bright orange fruit hanging like swollen lanterns from the naked sticks of the branches. Yang hadn’t known that the fruit were edible until Blake moved in— Blake was overjoyed to have a fruit that she prized as a rare treat growing so easily at hand. She plucked a couple as she passed, a snack for later. 

Blake pulled off the heavy coat and hung it on the rack, then plopped onto the bench by the door to tug off her stubborn boots one by one. The wood stove in the living room kept the whole cabin cozy, and she knew that the kettle she’d left on top of it would be close to boiling now, perfect to brew up a pot of tea. Her laptop, open on the kitchen table and surrounded by reference books and horsemanship magazines, was a silent sentry that reminded her of her obligations to her editor and her blog readers. But first— tea.

A press of a power button in passing filled the room with the soft strains of acoustic Christmas music. Yang had been listening to her surprisingly vast collection of eclectic holiday CDs while she was decorating the tree the week before, and had left her selections in the multi-disk changer. Blake smiled, swaying along to the arching refrains of “Oh Come All Ye Faithful” as she dropped the persimmons on the counter to finish ripening, then measured loose sencha into a porcelain teapot and poured hot water over the leaves. 

The Belladonna household hadn’t had many Christmas traditions— her parents had moved to the US from Indonesia only a few years before Blake was born, and though they were Buddhist they celebrated an abridged, secular version of Christmas for their daughter’s sake. It was strange, now, to be surrounded by Yang’s festive fervor. Strange, but good. 

_ If you think this is crazy, wait until you come to my dad’s for Christmas.  _ Yang had said, grinning widely while the tips of her ears flushed pink. She liked talking about the future as a thing that they would share.

The tree was a small pine, a rather lopsided specimen that they had found on the edge of the property. Yang had decided it was perfect, so they chopped it down and brought it home. Yang spent a long Sunday swearing at lights, tangled from storage, and dusting off ornaments that all seemed to hold nostalgic significance. 

It was a novelty to Blake, but she helped as much as she could. She threw herself into baking the recipes from old, stained cards, heirlooms from grandma Xiao Long. The aromas of spices and sugar that filled the cabin seemed to make the Christmas lights twinkle all the more merrily. They brought a tray of cookies to the neighbor down the road, a stoic old man who had more hair in his eyebrows than on top of his head, and he sent them home with a cardboard box full of rosy-cheeked apples from his orchard.

Blake cut herself a slice of pumpkin bread to go with her tea, then settled into the cane-back chair at the table, eyeing her laptop testily. She was working on a draft for  _ Horse & Rider _ about the interaction between natural horsemanship and dressage. She had gotten through a rough outline, but now the words just weren’t coming. Well, nothing to do but keep going. She cracked her knuckles.

After the first painfully slow thousand words, the ideas flowed more smoothly. Several hours of hard focus later and she sat back, stretching and groaning as forgotten muscles clamored for her attention. The CDs had swapped several times, and now a jazzy rendition of “Little Drummer Boy” was echoing through the room. The stove needed more wood, and she was hungry. 

The brief winter sunlight was starting to disappear behind the gray branches of the oak grove to the west. Blake checked her watch— ten ‘til five. She needed to get the animals fed before nightfall. Yang would probably be home in the next couple of hours. She had taken on a few last minute appointments before her winter holiday, clients panicking that their horses hooves wouldn’t make it until New Years. She was good natured about it, mentioning ruefully that she always planned a day or two of emergency trims and shoeing into her holiday schedule. Being self-employed let her choose her own hours, but being a farrier meant she needed to be mindful of her client’s needs and availability as well. It was quiet on the farm without her puttering around, but Blake had told herself she would use the time wisely.

Back into the mud boots and the barn coat, and down the hill to her waiting charges. Umbra’s blanket was still in place, though a bit askew. She righted it. Blake dumped a coffee can full of molasses feed on top of each horse's evening alfalfa and timothy hay, a treat that they all appreciated.

It was almost full dark as she returned to the cabin. The brooding clouds that had hung low all day now seemed to be fulfilling their promise of inclement weather. Intermittent fluffy flakes drifted delicately down, settling on the grass, trees, cabin, and Blake’s shoulders in a quickly accumulating blanket. Even as she walked the snowfall thickened, the world around her transformed into a strangely magical, unfamiliar landscape of soft curves and mysterious voids. A lot of kicking and stomping was needed to get the packed snow out of the treads of the mud boots before Blake stepped inside. 

She warmed up a serving of leftover curry from the night before, then settled back down to plan out her upcoming blog posts— she wanted to get at least three written and scheduled in the next few days so that she could truly relax over Christmas and New Years. Blog posts, at least, were easier than magazine articles. Her readers enjoyed the span of her interests, so she could let her passions wander. One would be about the copper roller bit she’d been sent by an independent tack manufacturer. She had also been meaning to write about adopting Felicity and how the little donkey had won the heart of her flighty, temperamental eventing horse. The last could be a year-end review, and then she could relax for at least a couple of weeks before she needed to create any new content.

Blake was just beginning to wonder about Yang when she heard the crunch of tires over snow-muffled gravel. She pushed herself up from the table and went to make another plate of curry for her, no-doubt famished, girlfriend. The microwave was humming and the kettle was back on the wood stove when the front door blew open to admit a gusting flurry of snow and one dirty, soggy, tired Yang Xiao Long.

“Hello love.” Blake slid in to steal a kiss as Yang tried to shuck off three outer layers and her boots all at the same time. “What took you so long?”

Thoroughly tangled in her garments, Yang gave Blake an irritated, but fond, glare. “The Cooper Ridge farm had six horses and a mule for me to look at, and the mule had a bad crack in her left hind hoof. I’m glad they called me in when they did, but that took three times longer than I thought it was going to.” Finally the tangle of jacket, scarf, gloves and sweater pulled free, leaving golden hair standing on end and the collar of Yang’s plaid shirt askew. 

Blake took the pile of clothes, carefully extracting the jacket and hanging it by the door, then depositing the rest in the laundry basket just inside the bedroom. “Do you want some tea or cocoa? I could warm up some of that apple cider we got last week if that sounds good…” She found herself enveloped in a tight hug that smelled of well-earned sweat and horses, and she relaxed into the aroma and the embrace with simple joy.

“You are too good for me.” Yang’s frozen fingertips found their way under the hem of Blake’s sweater and the smaller woman yelped, trying to wiggle away from the chilly intrusion. Yang held her fast, chuckling at Blake’s protests and profanity.

“This is how you treat the woman who made you dinner? I ought to send you down to sleep in the barn!” A sloppy kiss silenced her momentarily, and then a more sincere one derailed her completely, stealing her breath and leaving her clinging to Yang’s broad shoulders for support. They slowly broke apart, breathing ragged and gazes heated.

A push towards the bathroom and an admonishment to shower quickly and brush under her nails, which Yang rebutted with a light swat at Blake’s rump as she turned away. Blake cleared off a corner of the table and brought the warm plate of food over as Yang emerged, freshly scrubbed and wearing an old t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants. The blonde fell upon the food with the focused determination of someone who had burned way more calories than she had consumed that day. When Blake set a mug of tea by her plate she grinned appreciatively, sipping at the piping hot beverage in between bites.

Finally sated, Yang leaned back in her chair with a sigh. “Holy shit I’m tired. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was— I had a sandwich around one, but it’s been go go go ever since. Mrs. Leonard at Cooper Ridge tried to convince me to join them for dinner, but I wanted to get home to you.” Yang reached out, entangling her fingers with Blake’s and giving them a squeeze. 

Blake stood, tugging Yang along with her by their entwined hands. She picked up their two mugs in her free hand and led the way to the sofa. The cushions, upholstered in balding but soft brown velveteen, were deep and welcoming as they sank down onto them. Blake arranged them so that Yang’s head was resting in her lap, pulling the fluffy white afghan around them. She ran her fingers lightly through Yang’s hair, humming along with the music which had come full circle around to “Oh Come All Ye Faithful” once more.

“If you keep that up I’m going to fall asleep.”

“So what? If you want to sleep, then sleep.”

Yang yawned widely, her jaw cracking. “I had plans… It’s the night before Christmas Eve.”

“Anything you had planned can wait. Just relax for once.”

The gentle tease made Yang laugh, deep and sleepy and syrup-slow. They curled up there together, Blake watching the fire and Yang’s face and half-reading the novel she had abandoned on the coffee table days before. Outside the snow piled up, drifts blowing against the walls to cushion and insulate the little home. 

______________________________________________________________

Blake hadn’t realized that she’d dozed off until a snapping log in the fireplace jolted her to consciousness. Her hand flew to her face, quickly wiping away the tell-tale trail of drool that had escaped the corner of her mouth.

“You were snoring a little. It was cute.” Yang’s violet eyes looked almost black in the dancing light of the stove and the soft glow of the Christmas lights. She was still stretched across Blake’s lap, hair spilling like a river of silken gold over Blake’s knees. Yang reached up and ran her hand across Blake’s cheek, a reverent caress.

“I should put some more wood in the stove, so it doesn’t go out.” Yang sat up with a grunt, allowing Blake to pull herself out of the quicksand comfort of the couch. She prodded the coals with the poker, then filled the stove once more with seasoned oak logs that burned warm and slow. 

When Blake turned back to the couch, Yang was sitting there, her knees pulled up to her chest and the blanket spilling off of her lap. Yang’s face was gentle with love, but there was also a heat to her gaze that stirred an answering glow in the pit of Blake’s belly. It was unbelievable how sexy a t-shirt and flannel pajama pants could look, when they were worn by the right person.

Blake closed the gap between them with hesitant steps. Then, with equal poise, bent to bring her lips to Yang’s in a gentle, adoring kiss.

Yang growled, answering delicacy with passion as she licked into Blake’s mouth and reached up to tangle her fist into the hair at the back of Blake’s head. She moved so that her feet hit the floor lightly, then tugged Blake forward until the brunette was straddling her lap, their chests flush and heaving with the overwhelming sensation of contact.

Their lips met again, tongues and teeth and single-minded need. Yang’s hands found their way up under the edge of Blake’s sweater, but this time almost branding-hot skin found her skin. She traced her fingertips up along Blake’s belly, then quested along the underwire and to the band of her bra. Around to the back and she had the clasp free in a shared breath and a pull of teeth set in a lip. As soon as the bra hung loose, she was tracing her steps backward to cup Blake’s breasts in her strong, work-roughened hands. She rolled the small, hardening buds of Blake’s nipples between her fingertips. Blake cried out into their connected mouths, rolling her hips against Yang’s in a desperate search for friction.

Blake was not idle either. She ghosted up Yang’s back under her loose t-shirt, uninterrupted by inconvenient undergarments, then dragged her blunt nails down the smooth skin in a sudden, vicious pull. 

With another feral noise that sounded almost like  _ Yessssss _ , Yang pulled back from Blake’s mouth to yank the sweater, undershirt, and bra up over her head in one rough tug. With golden skin bared before her, she bent her head and rained kisses and nibbles in a wandering trail down Blake’s neck, collarbone, and onto her right breast. She sucked the rosy nipple into her mouth, rolling it with teeth and tongue as she returned to tormenting the other with her fingertips. 

A particularly sharp pinch-twist had Blake hissing, surging into the blissful torture. She grasped the sumptuous mane of gold, still slightly damp from the shower, and it caught and pulled pleasurably in her grip. Again, she rolled her hips against Yang’s, whimpering as the restricting denim prevented her from achieving anything more than a whisper of contact.

Releasing Blake’s breast with agonizing suction, Yang purred to the writhing woman in her arms. “Easy, baby, easy.” She slid forwards, hands moving to support Blake under her rump and behind her upper back. “Let’s give ourselves a little more room to move, yeah?”

In a magnificent display of strength and control, with Blake clutched in her arms Yang wrangled them both up off of the couch, and then settled Blake on her back on the dense pile of the plush rug in front of the fire. Her touch held a current of possessive command that stole Blake’s breath, making her heart pound and her head swim pleasantly. Fingers fumbled at the fly of her jeans and she reached down to help, only to have her wrists caught and pushed down to her sides. 

“Stay right there.” Yang’s voice was hard and kind, and Blake shivered at the thrill of restraint. A squeeze reinforced the command, then Yang returned to her work at Blake’s waistband. She tugged jeans down in one swift movement, pulling them off over Blake’s feet. She quickly disposed of Blake’s panties the same way, before sitting back on her haunches to admire the naked glory laid out before her. 

Eyes raking over her form made Blake wriggle, half bashful pride, half wanton arousal. The cool of the room and the radiant heat of the stove combined with her desire to make her feel feverish. “Are you just going to look at me or are you going to actually  _ do  _ something?” 

The challenge made Yang’s grin almost feral. She planted one knee between Blake’s sprawled thighs, sliding down and forward until Yang's own thigh pressed against the sensitive junction of Blake’s legs. She kissed Blake then, deep and claiming and thorough. A push-roll of her pelvis gave Blake a taste of the friction she craved, but only enough to deepen her appetite.

“One of these days that mouth is going to get you in trouble. I should give you something to do with it other than being a smartass.” Yang’s tone was thoughtful and relaxed, as though she was discussing horse training or what they were having for breakfast. 

Blake whimpered.

“You like that idea baby? D’you want to eat me out?” At Blake’s moan of affirmation, Yang narrowed her eyes. “No, you haven’t earned that yet. But I know you’ll be good with...inspiration.” A hand and capable fingers interjected between the pressing thigh and Blake’s tender, needy warmth. Blake stopped breathing. Fingertips painted a loving path around the almost over-stimulated margin of her clit, gliding in her wetness and dipping in to tantalize her with not-quite-enough indulgence. Yang brought her fingers to her mouth to lick the taste of Blake off of them with a sigh of enjoyment.

The fingers returned, helped along by Yang’s saliva, to begin a deep, constant circular movement within her. Blake ground against the hand, her hips hitching as pleasurable sensation doubled and redoubled within her. A third finger joined the initial two, the stretch mild and enjoyable.

“Touch yourself while I fuck you.” Yang’s voice was rough with desire, a velvet and whiskey rumble in her chest. Blake was not about to argue, her fingers diving to roll and twist at her clit as Yang continued her single-minded pursuit of Blake’s climax. 

Blake wasn’t sure when she started gasping— maybe she had been since the beginning, she just hadn’t been able to hear it over the staccato pounding of her heart. Her lungs felt hot and taxed, but the thrill of every nerve in her body overwhelmed anything else and she spiraled further and further upward and inward and towards the culmination of her own need. The clenching excitement built in her belly until it was so good she could weep from the need for release.

Yang dove in to kiss her again, their hands and arms trapped between their pyretic bodies. Her pace changed— she accompanied the sweeping motion of her fingers with a steadily building in and out. The pulse of it electrified Blake and, without warning, sent her careening headlong over the precipice of bliss.

They lay, pressed together and panting, as Blake rode through the ebbs and swells of her aftershocks. When Blake’s breathing started to even out, Yang carefully withdrew and pulled off her own shirt, carelessly wiping her hand with the worn cotton. 

Yang shone like a star in the dim glow of the fairy lights and the flickering fire. Her hair, her breasts, her cheeks, her firm belly, all painted in warm reds and oranges and greens. Blake pushed herself up to sitting, captivated. She wanted to touch, to stroke and caress and pull from her beloved’s throat the same sweet sounds she had been uttering only moments before. And she could.

It seemed that Yang was done with being commanding— she leaned into Blake’s affection like a flower towards the sun, eyes fluttering closed with obliging surrender. Blake leapt at the opportunity, mirroring the path that Yang’s lips and teeth and tongue had taken. She spent time indulging herself in the gorgeous fullness of Yang’s creamy breasts, her broad, rosy nipples, the enthralling lines of her collarbones where they met her neck. Delicate, wandering hands traced baroque patterns down pale flanks to the swell of Yang’s hips and the slipping waistband of her flannel pajamas. 

“I was good. I earned it.” The low purr sounded loud in the still house, muffled as it was by snow and the absolute silence of the midwinter night. A shiver down Yang’s delicious body encouraged her onwards. She crowded into the other woman’s space, encouraging her to lean back against the couch. In a moment of quick thinking, Blake nabbed a couple of the throw pillows and tucked them behind Yang’s back so that she ended up reclining comfortably. The pajamas had ridden almost obscenely low at that point, displaying the deep v of Yang’s pelvis and a faint halo of the dark blonde hairs that grew, sparse and short, below.

The pants lost the battle as Blake hooked her thumbs in the waistband and pulled them down until they caught around Yang’s ankles. She didn’t remove them entirely, instead opting to pull Yang’s hips towards her and, resting her elbows on top of the pants, effectively hobbling Yang with her knees bent up and heels almost against her rump. In that position the glorious blonde was laid out before her like a queen’s feast and Blake allowed herself a moment of self-satisfaction before she leaned in to nose at the soft curls. 

Yang smelled of cucumber body wash and musky-sweet arousal. Glancing up at Yang’s face, Blake mentally catalogued the divine acquiescence in the tilt of a chin and the relaxed feathering of thick dark eyelashes against freckled cheeks. The beauty of that moment made her wish she were an artist so that she could capture the sublime spectacle in canvas and paint. Lacking a painter's skills, she could only memorize it as best she could and maybe put it to paper in words before it was gone from her forever. She was greedy, she thought, that she would even attempt to capture such perfect grace, but she had an artists soul if not the talents of one.

An impatient hitch of Yang’s hips reminded her of the task at hand. Without preamble she plunged to press herself deep into the warm center of her lover's passion. Blake’s clever tongue danced and sampled, laving Yang into a fury of need. Gentle suction and the unrelenting flick of her tonguetip against the engorged nub of Yang’s clit drew moans of want, and Blake alternated between that and a shallow dip-plunge into quivering wet depths. She felt as her attentions carried Yang upwards on the cresting wave of gratification, calculating her timing with care and then plunging as deeply as she could into the delicious pulsating heat as Yang came in her mouth with a sob-moan.

They lay for a while in a boneless puddle of floating, post-coital joy. Yang’s hand found its way into Blake’s hair again, this time clumsily finger-combing through the fine dark strands. Blake wiped her face on the discarded shirt— they would really need to do some laundry tomorrow— and rested with her cheek on the sinfully soft and tender skin of Yang’s inner thigh. 

“I’m so glad to get to do this with you.” Yang’s voice was muffled, thick with unspoken emotion. 

Blake looked up and found herself momentarily overwhelmed with the pure, unadulterated love shining on Yang’s face like a beacon. She wouldn’t have been able to contain her joyful grin if she had tried, but that didn’t stop the spark of mischief on the tip of her tongue. “Sex under a Christmas tree?”

That inspired a snort and a rude ruffling of her hair, but Yang’s gaze was still warm and dreamy. “Well, that too. But I’m mostly glad I get to spend Christmas with you. To build new traditions.”

There was nothing Blake could say to that. She slid up to curl against Yang’s chest, pulling the throw blanket over them. She listened to the steady thunder of her beloved’s heart, letting it lull her into deep relaxation. Before she drifted off, however, a thought jumped to her mind. “Hey Yang?”

“Mmm?” Came the drowsy reply.

“...Can sex under a Christmas tree be one of our traditions?”

Yang answered with a laugh and clutched Blake to her in a bone-crushing hug. In the glow of the fire and wrapped in the cloud-soft warmth of the blanket, the two women curled up against each other to sleep away the rest of the long winter night.


End file.
